Confessions of an Alleged Sociopath
by LegilimensAndAnimagus
Summary: A suspected sociopathic UnSub with a very personal connection with the BAU recounts her evolution into the most prolific criminal to ever cross their path.
1. Intro

**Hello! This is a story I came up with after months of wanting to write a Criminal Minds story. It was inspired by the show's storyline of Emily Prentiss' past as a spy and two of my favorite villainesses, The Evil Queen (from ABC's **_**Once Upon A Time**_**) and Callisto (from **_**Xena: Warrior Princess**_**). This is mostly a Prentiss/OC story with a strong Reid/OC love story sub plot, and some Morgan/OC. This is my first time writing a CM story so please bear with me. **

**Warnings are as followed: Strong language, Sex, Violence, and Character death. Timeline of events are a little different from the show.**

**As usual, I don't own Criminal Minds or its characters. I just own the OC's.**

**Thanks for reading **

* * *

**Confessions of an Alleged Sociopath**

"_I feel like there are two types of people in this world, Rossi. The ones that get over their grief and move on, and the ones that descend into some sort of endless misery."_

-Spencer Reid

Chapter 1: _**Intro**_

My name is Alana and I am an alleged sociopath.

I say alleged because I don't think it's true.

By definition, a sociopath is a person with a personality disorder that manifests itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior, and a lack of conscious. They're said to be master manipulators and liars, callous, cold individuals incapable of feeling normal human emotion. Feelings of guilt, remorse, shame and love don't exist in their world.

Callous and cold? It depends on who you ask. Lying and manipulating? When I need to, but who doesn't? Anyone who says they've never lied to or manipulated another person in their entire life is a goddamn liar, and they should be in this nut house right now instead of me.

That's where I am, by the way, the nut house. A mental institution. A "safe place" for people like "me" who need "help." But I don't need help. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not sociopathic, or anything close to it. I feel no shame or remorse or guilt over what I've done to get here, because I wasn't wrong.

I _am _capable of feeling normal human emotions. I _am _capable of feeling love. In fact, that's why I'm in this rat hole. _Love_. And a burning, deep-seated hatred.

So here I am, in this small room sitting in this rickety old chair, being evaluated by a psychiatrist and the FBI's best criminal profilers. I can almost laugh as they stare at me, study me, try to figure me out and understand why I am the way I am, why I've done the things that I've done. It's both amusing and kind of frustrating at the same time.

"Well, are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to do what you came here to do and interview me?" I ask.

I see Hotch and JJ exchange quick glances, and then they open their files and notebooks, and click their pens. They look anxious, almost morose as they do this. I like that.

Hotch takes a deep breath. "Okay, let's start at the beginning."

"The beginning? When _it _happened?" I don't need to elaborate on what "it" is. They already know.

"No, let's start from the very beginning." JJ says. She opens one of the files to the first page. "You were born Alana Maryse Baudelaire-Morgan on March 1, 1991 in Lower Canaan, Ohio?"

"Yes," I say with a nod, a little annoyed with such an irrelevant question. "But what does that have anything to do with this?"

"Just a baseline question." Hotch says.

"To test how honest you're going to be." JJ adds.

I'm borderline amused and offended by this statement. I smirk a little and stare directly into JJ's blue eyes. I can tell she's a little scared, but she still stares back at me, nonetheless.

"Do you honestly think I'd lie at this point, Jennifer? After all that's happened, you think I'd lie?" I shake my head, disappointed with the both of them. I lean forward across the table, still staring at JJ. "Don't be concerned about my honesty. Trust me when I say that I'm going to tell you _everything_. Every sickening detail."

With that, I sit back in my chair and begin my confession.

* * *

**One more thing- the face claim for the book cover image is Hudson Leick (the talented actress that portrayed Callisto). I know it looks a lot like Nikki Reid, but it's just Hudson edited with darker hair. **


	2. The Beginning

Chapter 2: _**The Beginning**_

**December 1, 2006**

I'll start at the beginning. The relevant beginning, I mean. I was born in Lower Canaan, Ohio. My parents were only teenagers, both seventeen years old. My mother, Sophie Baudelaire, was from France. She and my grandmother moved to Ohio a couple of years after my grandfather was killed by a rival. He was in the French mafia, you see. A very prominent figure, from what I heard. He was assassinated while he was shopping with my mother and grandmother. My mother was 14 years old.

My father, Derek Morgan, grew up in Chicago. His father, my grandfather, was a police officer. He was killed trying to stop a robbery while he and Derek went to a convenience store. Derek was 10 years old.

How did two very different people from two very different places with one common tragedy find their way to each other? A rebellious road trip to Chicago, according to my mother. She ran away to Chicago for the weekend and met a hunky football player named Derek Morgan. Five weeks later she found out she was pregnant with yours truly.

To make a long and horribly average story short, my mother pretty much raised me by herself (with help from my grandmother, of course). Derek would visit every so often, staying a day or two for my birthdays, maybe call once or twice a week to see how things were going. He sent me presents every month, along with a couple of empty promises. You know, typical drive-by dad things.

But I guess that what happens when you're too busy with your own life. Becoming a cop and eventually joining the FBI takes a lot of hard work and dedication, you know. And Derek Morgan was definitely up for the challenge. Between working and adding countless notches to his bedpost, he barely had time for little things like his child.

The positive side of it all was that I was used to him being gone, and I barely ever missed him. I really didn't need him, anyhow. I had my mother. My Mama. The strongest and smartest woman I've ever known.

She took a different career path, much different from Derek's. She also followed in her father's footsteps. She also worked hard, and in a short time had risen up the ranks of the French Mafia and built herself a reputation as a ruthless criminal specializing in weapons dealing, assassination, and master thievery. You probably wouldn't exactly consider her Mother of the Year, but at least she was there. When she wasn't at "work" she was with me every minute of the day. She taught me what was right and what was wrong, how to fight, and how to take care of myself. She taught me what love was, to believe in myself, and to stand up for what I believe in. She never lied about our lifestyle or her past. She was more of a man than Derek was.

Now we get to the true beginning of this story, where it all really began.

I was on vacation with my mother in Marseille at our summer home when "it" happened. I was 11 years old, sitting in the kitchen with my mother laughing and eating a snack when the alarm went off, the one that told us that someone was breaking into the house.

"Obtenez le passage secret, ma chérie. Dépêchez-vous!" She screamed.

She practically shoved me into one of the pantries, which had a secret passageway that lead to a safe house a few houses down. We had done drills before, to prepare just in case something like this were to happen. I knew I was supposed to run and never stop until I got to the safe house. But I couldn't move. I couldn't leave her there. I was about to open the door, to grab her hand or beg her to come with me, but I had only cracked the door when I heard the hail of gunfire and people shouting "S.W.A.T.!" and "INTERPOL!"

"Sophie Baudelaire! Put the gun down!" I heard a woman scream.

"Sors de ma maison!" Mama screamed back. "Get out of my house!"

I could only see a little of what was happening, but I saw my mama with her gun, pointing it at the other woman, standing proud and holding her ground.

"Posez votre arme!" The woman replied in French. "Ne sois pas stupide!"

Mama laughed. "I think you're the one that's stupid. Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Yes, a cold-blooded murderer." The woman said. "Don't be stupid, Sophie. You're outnumbered. It's over!"

Mama smirked and said, "It's not over until I say it's over."

The next thing I saw was a flash of gunfire, a bloody blast, and Mama falling to the floor, her body riddled with bullets and soaked with blood. I could feel something in me break. I couldn't gasp or scream or cry out. All I could do was stare, breathless, numb. It was surreal. I stood in the pantry and stared, quiet and unmoving. I don't know how long I was there, but I was un-noticed by everyone. The cops, the agents, the paramedics, the coroner—No one noticed me.

Somehow, after everyone had gone, I was found by my mother's lieutenant, Rene, who had somehow escaped the raid. He held me for a while, until I came out of my shock. Once the numbness and shock of the situation wore off, I could feel again. I wanted to cry, I probably should've cried, I _was _devastated. But I couldn't. This seemed beyond devastation, beyond tears. Instead all I could feel was anger, a deep and burning hatred that was stirring somewhere deep inside of me. A wild and dangerous fire that never died down.

I was sent to live with my grandmother after that, but only for two years on account of her death from a heart failure. At least that's what the medical examiner said, I actually think she died of a broken heart.

Even after I lost the two most important people in my life, Derek still couldn't bring himself to take responsibility and look after me himself (not that I needed him to). Instead he sent me to live with his mother Fran in Chicago, with the explanation that his line of work, his life was too dangerous and unstable for a little girl to be subjected to. I wasn't exactly shocked. After all, he _was_ a self-centered moron. People like that never change.

I didn't care, though. I trudged through my new life in Chicago, the only thing keeping me from slitting my wrists to escape the shot hole of a city was the hope of one day, maybe, finding the people who killed my mother and giving them what they had coming to them, what they very much deserved. Two miserable years had passed by, and I almost gave up hope, until one early winter night when everything changed.

It was Fran's birthday, and Derek had flown in from Virginia to celebrate with us. They were all sitting around the couch, Fran, Sarah, Desiree and Derek, laughing and joking. I was bored out of my mind and about to go up to my room to read when Derek called for me.

"Where you going, baby girl?" He asked.

I almost cringed. I fucking hate it when he said "baby girl."

"To get a book, Dad." I reply, that last word burning and very bitter on my tongue.

"Forget about that for a minute, come over here and sit with us for a while." He smiled and patted the seat between him and Fran.

I begrudgingly obeyed and sat between them, absolutely hating when he put an arm around me in some sort of attempt to hug me.

"So how are you, baby girl? How's school going? Did you bring those algebra and chemistry grades up like you promised?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

"Good. Keep those grades up and you just might get that car for your birthday like I promised."

I almost laughed. Another one of Derek Morgan's "promises."

"Speaking of cars, I got you a present, Mama." Said Derek, his attention suddenly focused on his mother. "I got you a present…"

He reached over to the side table and picked up a wrapped gift. Fran opened it and smiled when she saw a small remote. I could tell from the look on her face that she didn't even know what it was.

"What is it?" She asked.

Derek laughed. "It's a remote starter. You hit that button right there and it starts your car from inside the house."

"Why would I do that?"

"So it's nice and warm when you get in it." He explained.

"Really?"

"Yeah, no more cold cars in the winter, Ma."

"I would like one for Christmas." Sarah chimed in.

"Not with that bucket you drive." Derek joked.

Sarah reached over me to smack Derek on the arm. While they were laughing I managed to slip out from underneath his arm and get into the kitchen. I got myself a piece of cake and half-listened to Derek and Fran's conversation. As usual, she tried convincing him to come back to quit his dangerous job and move back to Chicago because we all "missed" him.

_You can go away and never come back, as far as I'm concerned,_ I thought to myself.

I nearly choked on my cake when I heard Fran say "…you owe me some more grandbabies…a bunch of them!" _God couldn't possibly hate me that much!_

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It turned out to be the local police, and they came to arrest Derek for murder. I could barely contain my amusement when they put him in handcuffs and took him away. The look of utter confusion and anger on his face was priceless. If I had a camera I would've taken a picture.

My aunts and grandmother scrambled around the house for hours after they took him away, desperately calling up other family members and lawyers that they could afford. Meanwhile I sat in the center of all the chaos, pretending to be upset by it all but really enjoying the face that he was sitting in an interrogation room suffering and trying to find a way out of this. It was a spark of Karma in my mind and I was happy to sit back and enjoy. I slept peacefully that night.

I woke up the next morning a little later than usual and headed downstairs to see if he was still in sitting in jail. I was more than surprised to see that we had company. There were three people, two men and one woman. One of the men I recognized as one of the detectives that took Derek away the night before. The other man, who was tall and very thin with neat hair and glasses, I had never seen before. But I had a feeling that he was one of the co-workers Derek had described. His name I couldn't recall. The woman, I knew, was also a co-worker. I faintly remembered him saying something about a new colleague with dark hair and dark eyes.

They all stopped and stared when I entered the room.

"This is Derek's daughter, Alana." Desiree said, nodding in my direction.

"_Daughter?" _The guy with the glasses squeaked, his eyes flickering between me and Desiree. "We…I had no clue that he had a daughter."

He never mentioned me, even to his co-workers. No surprise there.

"Her mother was killed a few years ago." Fran explained. "She lives here with me on account of Derek's life being so hectic…"

There was an awkward silence. The guy with the glasses just stared at me with his mouth popped open, apparently still surprised. I just stared right back at him, both of our hazel eyes boring into each other until finally he looked away.

"Why don't you get them some cake, baby?" Sarah said to me.

I nodded and walked the short distance into the kitchen.

"What are you even doing in my mother's house?" Sarah asked, clearly outraged at the detective that apparently made a snarky comment just before I came down.

"They asked me!" He replied.

"Not really…" Said a voice that must have belonged to the skinny guy.

For some reason it was funny, and I laughed a little. There was more mildly interesting conversation, about Derek's past as a troublemaker and something about a youth center. And then…

"Look, when we ask a question it's not to demean your brother or anything he's done…"

I dropped the metal dessert knife. I immediately knew that voice. It was the voice of that woman from the raid, the one in the kitchen. The one who killed my mother.

I walked slowly back to the dining room. Every hair on my body was standing up. The blood rushed through my veins. There was a pounding in my chest that resounded in my ears. I stared at her as I got closer, and she looked back at me, concern in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked me.

Oh yes, I knew for sure then. That voice. I recognized it from anywhere. It was her. It was definitely her. I was never so sure of something in my life…

"Alana?" She asked.

A million thoughts ran through my mind. Like how easily I could pick up that dessert knife and stab her in the neck. Or how close I was that I could just reach out and get my bare hands around her neck…

There was a pair of hands on my shoulder, Desiree's. I managed to snap out of whatever state I was in and manage a sentence.

"I…I cut myself when I dropped the knife…Excuse me…"

I rushed off for the bathroom before anyone could notice that I wasn't actually hurt. On the way up I heard Fran say "she's just been so upset by this whole thing…." If she only knew what I was _really _feeling, how my body was tingling and nearly shaking with rage, how badly I wanted to hurt that woman, to kill her and make her bleed. It was all I could do not to run back downstairs and act on my thoughts. Instead I managed to control myself, for a few minutes, anyway, and used a razor blade to cut a small wound in my hand to collaborate my story.

As I cleaned the cut and bandaged it up, I tried to think this through in my head, tried to plan out how this would go.

_You've probably only got one shot at this, Alana. _I thought to myself. _You've got to make it count…_

I wracked my brain for ideas, for strategies, rocking back and forth on my heels as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was about to settle on running downstairs and just going totally ape shit on her, but when I glanced down at my hand and saw that the cut. It was still bleeding some, the thick crimson liquid trickling out slowly, little by little, almost like it was never going to stop, like it was trying to make me suffer. That's when the idea hit me. Suffering. A quick, easy death seemed so unjust, very unfair to my mother, to my grandmother and I, who had suffered and lived in our grief for so long. A slow death made sense. A nice, slow torture until I decided to end it. When I said it could be over.

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror and then composed myself. As I was walking out of the bathroom I nearly ran into the tall skinny guy with the glasses.

"Oh! Sorry, I-I was looking for Morgan's—er, your dad's old room, to go through his things—for this thing called victimology. It's this thing in profiling that tells us—"

"I know what victimology is." I said calmly, interrupting his ramble. He blushed a little, probably a little embarrassed. "His old bedroom is actually my bedroom now. Come on, I'll show you…"

He followed me into my room, where I lead him to the small closet that had old dusty boxes on the floor. I watched as he went through the boxes, analyzing each item like it held the answer to a difficult question. It was curious, the way he read the old high school newsletters. His eyes and fingers moved so fats over the page, like he wasn't even reading them at all.

"Do you really read that fast?" I asked him.

He looked up, looking surprised as if he had forgotten I was there. "Oh! Yes, I um…I can read 20,000 words per minute."

I let out a low whistle of admiration. "Wow. That's pretty fast. Der—I mean, my dad—never mentioned that when he talked about you."

"He didn't?"

"No, he just said that you read fast and have an eidetic memory." I said. "He says you're some type of genius."

He was full on blushing now, and smiling a little. "Well, I…I guess I am, yeah." He chuckled. "I can't believe Morgan actually talks about me to you guys."

I nodded. "He talks about all of you guys. I'm not really good with names, though. Which one are you?"

"Reid." He replied. "Spencer Reid."

"The doctor?" I asked, suddenly remembering a conversation about a young doctor called Reid.

"Yeah, the doctor."

"Hmm…" I stared at him for a second, mildly envious of how young he was and how goddamn smart he was.

"Are…are these all your books?" Reid asked, looking around the room at the piles of books on the floor and on the book shelf.

"Oh, yeah. Those are mine." I replied. "I love to read. Mostly crime novels and European literature, but I'll read pretty much anything."

"I love reading, too." He said. "My mother was actually a professor of 15th Century British literature."

The doctor abandoned his original task and was now looking through my piles of books, almost like he couldn't help himself. I didn't mind, though, and let him have at it. Meanwhile, I went back to work on my algebra homework I hadn't finished, in an attempt to keep my mind from temporarily thinking murderous thoughts about that woman downstairs. And if there was anything that could distract me from that, it was surely algebra. Within ten minutes I was frustrated enough to kill someone, and cursing under my breath at whoever invented algebra in the first place.

That's when I felt Reid sit down beside me, looking over my shoulder like a curious bird.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just having a little trouble with this algebra homework is all. I'm horrible at math."

"Can I take a look?"

I nodded and handed him the textbook. He looked it over, and compared it with my work paper. How he was able to make anything out despite all of those eraser marks was beyond me…

"I see the problem now. You're having some trouble with the formula. But don't worry, it's a very common problem." He smiled at me, and picked up the pencil from the notebook. "Here, let me show you…"

Dr. Reid sat there with me for a good three hours, helping me with my homework and guiding me through the complicated formulas. He even helped me a little with some of my chemistry work, excitedly telling me all about the periodic table and what chemicals were used for certain things. I was amazed at how easily I was able to follow his instructions and how clear and patient he was with me. Eventually we ended up talking about books and our favorite authors. Surprisingly, we found out that we both loved Sherlock Holmes and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. We were just having an intense conversation about the movie adaptation when he got a call on his cell phone.

"You did…._Buford? _He…He…Oh my…" He looked over at me, and then quickly got up so I wouldn't hear he conversation. "Alright….ten minutes? I'll be waiting outside…"

He hung up and looked at me almost apologetically. "Sorry about that, Alana. I've got to go. "

A felt a twinge of disappointment, but quickly rebounded. "Oh…alright."

"But I do have some good news." He said. "We figured it all out. Your dad should be home in a few hours!"

Reid was beaming at me, as if he expected me to jump for joy. I did manage a smile, though, to make it seem like I was happy. "That's great. Thanks…you know, for everything."

"No problem at all. In fact," He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "If you ever need help again, feel free to email or call me. My personal number and email are on the back."

"Oh…thank you." I was a little taken aback but nonetheless grateful for his kindness. I took the card and put it on my desk with my important papers.

"Well, I guess I ought to get going. Nice meeting you, Alana."

"Nice meeting you too, Dr. Reid—"

"Please, just Reid." He said, his cheeks a little pick. "Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer."

"Okay then," I said with a smile. "It was nice meeting you, Spencer."

He smiled back, then waved goodbye and left.

"Oh, wait!" I shouted, almost forgetting to ask him the most important question. "Spencer!"

Spencer poked his head back in. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just forgot to ask…what is that woman's name? The one that was here earlier…"

"Oh! Emily? Emily Prentiss?"

"That's her name?"

"Yes." He replied with a nod.

"Tell Emily…tell her I said _thank you_."

Spencer smiled. "I will."

I saw him out, and then went back into my room to plan to destruction of Emily Prentiss.

**Some of the dialog was taken from the Season 2 episode **_**Profiler, Profiled.**_** A tiny bit was modified to fit my story. Also, I have no idea if there's a French Mafia, but there's one in my story. **


	3. The Basics

Chapter: _**The Basics**_

**December 8, 2006**

A week had passed by. Derek was gone and so was the BAU. My mind was still in a tailspin after seeing _her, _Emily Prentiss. I was living with a whirlwind of feelings about the previous week's encounter. A complicated cocktail of anger, excitement, vengeance, and happiness coursed through my blood. It was strangely exhilarating and motivating. It was like a new life had been blown into my body, and I was even more focused and determined than ever to get my revenge on Emily Prentiss.

I've read enough books and watched enough crime shows to know that you just can't jump in and go off half-cocked. You need a plan, and a backup plan in case the original plan goes wrong. You need to learn your craft, build your confidence, and experiment. It would require patience, determination and detailed planning. It would be hard, but I was determined to pull it off. And I had the perfect plan!

But first, the basics…

It started with simple theft. I lifted a credit card off of a random woman walking down the street. The whole "oops I accidentally bumped into you and sent your purse flying through the air and picked up your wallet while you weren't looking" routine worked like a charm. A full background check charged on her credit card gave me a little more insight on Emily. And when I say little, I _really_ mean a little. Most of the information wasn't available, surely classified by the government due to the nature of her job. Understandable. All I got was that she was born on October 12, 1970. She graduated from Garfield High School in 1989 and went to Yale. She was raised by a single mother by the name of Elizabeth Prentiss, who was some sort of Diplomat. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something and I could use it to my advantage somehow.

I felt satisfied that that was all of the background information I was going to get, and decided to call it quits for the day and head to my ballet and gymnastics class. I tossed the card in a dumpster and hopped on the bus headed for the dance studio.

I had been taking gymnastics and ballet lessons for as long as I could remember. Mama signed me up for classes as soon as I was able to walk, I was told. Having taken ballet for many years herself, she absolutely loved the ballet and took me as often as she could. Continued ballet and gymnastics lessons were something that Derek sprung for when I first moved to Chicago, to help me "adjust," as he put it. Dancing was my source of comfort after my Mama died. In a strange way it made me feel closer to her, like I could somehow connect with her through the motions and rhythms.

But since finding out about Emily that connection through dance started to waiver. I couldn't concentrate in class, and found myself feeling disconnected from everything around me. It just wasn't the same anymore, it wasn't _enough. _

I left the dance studio feeling a numb void that could only be filled with vengeance.

When I finally walked through the door at nearly nine o'clock Fran was waiting for me in the kitchen with a set dinner table and a smile. "Hi, sweetie! I made some pot roast for you…"

She waved a hand over the table and smiled proudly. I hate pot roast, but I smiled a little and sat down anyway. I filled my plate with a minimum amount of food and nibbled on tiny bites while Fran made small talk.

"Excited for Christmas?" She asked.

I shrugged. "Not really."

Fran gaped at me. "Not excited for Christmas? What kind of kid isn't excited for Christmas?"

I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping. Everyone around me had this idea that I was just a kid, a kid that knew nothing and never thought of anything else but dance, boys and makeup. They really thought I was innocent and naïve. They had absolutely no idea what I was thinking, what I was capable of and what I was planning to do. It was one part pathetic, one part frustrating, and one part amusing. They really had no idea!

"I don't know. I'm just not excited." Fran started to say something else, but I cut across her before she could ask anymore stupid questions. "Anyway, I'm thinking about dropping my ballet lessons."

Fran was shocked. Her eyes got bigger and her mouth was popped open. "Oh, really? How come? You love ballet and gymnastics."

"I'm not dropping gymnastics, just ballet." I corrected. "I love it but I just don't have the time. The big graduation tests are coming up and I really need to buckle down."

It wasn't a complete lie. I really did need to buckle down and concentrate more. While I wanted to pour all of my energy and attention into destroying Emily Prentiss, I also wanted to be able to graduate high school and get out of that rat hole. Not to mention I would've considered it a personal failure if I didn't pass every subject and had to retake the test like so many of the fucking idiots I was surrounded by.

"On second thought, I might cut gymnastics, too." I said aloud, more to myself than to Fran.

She smiled softly, looking a little surprised but accepting of my decision. "Well, aren't you the serious scholar!"

"I have to be if I'm going to get into Georgetown."

"Georgetown! That's near your father in Virginia, isn't it?"

_And Emily, _I thought to myself. "Sure is."

"That's a pretty ambitious goal, young lady."

"Well, you know what they say. Go big or go home." I replied. "In fact, I have mid-term exams in two weeks and I _really _need to get on this science study packet."

I got up from the dinner table and went up to my bedroom.

"I'm proud of you." I heard Fran say as I shut the door.

I made an effort to do my homework that night. I really did. I breezed through the English and history portions, and even the chemistry papers. The way Spencer Reid had explained things to me a week before made it so much easier for me to understand and finish the assignment. Math, on the other hand, was a different story. I gave up halfway through and, just wanting to get homework over with, made the decision to break down and ask for help. I grabbed my laptop and the business card on my desk, and then wrote an email to Dr. Reid. I wrote and erased it several times in an attempt not to come off like a dumb and desperate loser. I hated asking for help, even with homework, and cringed when I hit the send button.

I was surprised that he replied so quickly. Within minutes there was a reply from a "Dr. Spencer Reid" in my inbox. I opened it and saw a cheery email.

_Alana,_

_Good to hear from you. I would be more than happy to help you! What are you having trouble with? Is it more algebra? Or have you moved on to a different branch of mathematics? I'd be happy to help you with anything. I have a Ph. D in mathematics, chemistry and engineering. _

_Spencer_

I could feel his excitement, even through an email message. I laughed and typed a reply.

_Spencer,_

_Thank you for replying so quickly and agreeing to help me. I really appreciate it! Yes, it's algebra again. Like I said before, I'm horrible at math. I've just never been able to grasp the concept of math and science as well as everything else. I am getting better in chemistry, though, thanks to you._

_Alana_

_Alana,_

_You're welcome! I'm glad to hear that you are improving. I hope I can help you improve in math as well. There's actually a theory in psychology called the Left Brain vs. Right Brain Dominance. The theory is that everyone is either dominant on the left side of their brain or the right. The left side of the brain is said to control specific functions such as logic, reasoning, critical thinking, numbers and language. The right side of the brain is said to control expressive and creative tasks. If you believe the theory and from what Morgan has told us about you, one could assume you are right-brained. _

_Spencer_

I shoved my face closer to the screen and reread that last sentence. "What the hell did Derek say about me?!"

_Spencer,_

_You sound skeptical. What exactly has he said about me?_

_Alana_

I drummed my fingers on my thighs, impatiently waiting for a reply. And then…

_Alana,_

_I am skeptical. I refuse to believe it until there is solid scientific evidence to support the theory. He told us about your accelerated scores in English and creative writing, and that your short stories and essays have been featured in your school newspaper as well as the Chicago Tribune. That's very impressive. I was also impressed by your book collection. I was surprised to find some in French._

_Spencer_

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was smiling as I typed.

_Spencer,_

_I'm fluent in French. My mother was from Paris. Do you speak any French? And thank you. You are very impressive yourself. I'm still amazed at your ability to read so fast. I can only imagine how fast you go through books! I'm guessing you have quite the book collection yourself._

_Alana_

_Alana,_

_I speak and understand a little of the language but unfortunately I'm not fluent. I've always wanted to learn to speak fluently but I've never had the time. Thank you for your kind compliments. I do go through a ridiculous amount of books per week! You're right, I do have quite the collection. Hopefully someday soon you can come over and I can show you._

_Spencer_

_Spencer,_

_That sounds nice. Maybe we can compare collections! How about we make a deal. You teach me math and I'll teach you French? _

_Alana_

_Alana,_

_Deal! __How about we get started right now?_

_Spencer_

_Spencer,_

_That would be great._

_Alana_


	4. Blood-Red Christmas

Chapter: _**Blood-Red Christmas**_

**December 24, 2006**

It was Christmas Eve in Chicago. Exams were over and school was out until January. The famous windy weather of Chicago blew in a ridiculously freezing cold front, and with it came Derek Morgan. He blew into town with bags of presents and tacky Christmas sweaters. Fran forced us all to have dinner together in the dining room and "catch up." We sat around that table for two hours eating Fran's plain and boring food and talking about the same damn things over and over again. They all sat around laughing, talking and drinking wine, like nothing was wrong. Like my mama wasn't dead. Like I actually wanted to be there with them, like I _belonged_ with them.

With every cheerful smile, laugh, and clink of their wine glasses I felt an angry heat rise further and further up my body. It was burning me inside and out, almost making me shake. My fingers clenched around my fork as hard as they could and my first compulsion was to stab at the slab of meat on my plate and shove the hot food in my mouth. It was still hot, and burned as it went down. I stabbed another piece and shoved it in my mouth, the sound of the fork hitting the plate temporarily blocking out the laughter and the talking, the weight of the food in my stomach acting as a road block to the rage that was beginning to boil up inside.

I couldn't stop. The faster and harder I ate, the more everything around me began to fade away. _Clink. _Burn. _Clink._ Burn. It was all I could hear, all I could feel. It was hypnotic, and comforting.

Before I knew it my plate was empty. There was no more food to shove in my mouth and no noise to block out the sounds around me. Just like that the anger started to build up again. I looked up to find everyone staring at me like I was some kind of zoo animal. Not that I could exactly blame them, though. I could only imagine what I looked like after I wolfed down all that food.

"Alana—"

I jumped up from the table before Derek could utter another word. I ran up to my bedroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure so no one would come in. I wanted to be alone with my anger, I needed to do something—_anything_—to forget about where I was and who I was with on what used to be one of my favorite holidays. I was nearly shaking and there was a burning behind my eyes that I was trying but failing to ignore.

The next thing I knew a lamp was being thrown across the room. Then it was a book, shoes, DVDs…but no matter how many things I threw it wasn't enough. The rage was still boiling, and I needed an outlet. I needed _more. _Destroying my bedroom wasn't enough. This was bigger than that, nothing else mattered than that moment and how I was feeling.

I could hear Derek and Desiree banging on the door, asking if I was alright and demanding that I open the door. I ignored them and opened the closet door. When I first moved in I hid a lockbox in the back of the closet that kept just a few keepsakes from my Mama. At the very bottom was an antique silver revolver and a handful of bullets.

"Alana, open this door or I'll break it down!" Derek screamed.

I rolled my eyes and threw on a coat, carefully loading the gun and tucking it away in a pocket. I opened the door to the four idiots staring at me and babbling. I tried to move past them , but Derek grabbed me and spun me around to face him.

"Get off of me!" I growled.

"Alana, talk to me! What's wrong?"

"I need some air! Get _off_ of me!"

I wiggled out of his grip and took off down the stairs and out of the door. I knew Derek was chasing after me. I could hear him yelling for me, but his voice is so distant so I knew he was too far behind to catch up. Before long I had lost him, and I was walking around the streets of Chicago. It was Christmas Eve but the streets were still pretty crowded. It was mostly crackheads and people doing some last minute shopping, but it didn't matter. There was something in the air that day that told me that the time was right and something special was going to happen. After thinking about it for a while I just knew; _someone_ wasn't going to be seeing another Christmas.

And I knew just who that someone was.

There was a man that I saw often on my way to school. He was perpetually drunk and rumored to be a sex offender. I could see it in his eyes and the way he looked at women. I knew he what he was, I knew the rumors were true. It was perfect, and I couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more.

I didn't have to look for him. He found me. All I had to do was stand in front of the building across the street from my school and wait until he emerged from the alley. Like a bee to a flower he quickly gravitated toward me. He was smiling, looking like he couldn't believe his luck. He approached me from behind and slinked up next to me.

"Hey, there." He said. His breath reeked of tooth decay and alcohol.

"Hi."

"It's Christmas Eve! What's a pretty little girl like you doing out here by yourself?"

I shrugged. "I felt like taking a walk."

"Hmm…" He smiled even wider. "Do you drink? I got some whiskey if you want some."

_Perfect._

"I would love some."

It was hysterical but almost a little bit sad. Almost. He had no clue what was about to happen to him. He just continued to lead me down the alley thinking I was going to be an easy mark. My fingers were wrapped around the trigger and itching with excitement and anticipation.

He held up the bottle for me to take from him. I just stared at him, wanting to burn his face into my memory, his stupid, unsuspecting face. He had no idea what was coming until I pulled out the gun and raised it to his chest. He tried to scream but it was too late. I pulled the trigger. The loud _pop_ the shot made sent a jolt of electricity through my body. It was soothing and exciting at the same time.

For the first time in a long time I was having fun. It was kind of like riding a roller coaster or playing one of those carnival games. Each bullet made his body move differently, like one of those huge blowup characters businesses used in the parking lots to attract customers. Unfortunately I ran out of bullets and I had to stop. But my goal was met; he was dead, and I felt better.

It was amazing how fast he died, and just how much blood the human body contained. I thought about looking inside the body, but decided not to. It was too cold outside and the police would probably be coming soon, so I had to go back to Fran's house, which was a shame because the blood looked so pretty against the white snow.

When I got back to the house no one was there. I had a feeling they were all out looking for me, so it gave me plenty of time to clean up. I put the cleaned and put the gun away, threw my clothes in the washing machine and took a shower. I showered longer than usual, taking the time to warm up and wash away any evidence. By the time I got out and got dressed, they had come home. They were frantic, asking where I was and if I was okay. No matter how much I insisted that everything was fine they still kept hovering until Derek shooed them away. Unfortunately he didn't fly away with them . He shut my door after they left, and I braced myself for a talk.

"I told you I needed some air." I told him before he even stated talking. "So there's no need for this little chat you're about to insist we have."

His eyebrows knit together. "Well , too damn bad!"

He was pissed, I could tell. He pulled up a chair in front of my bed and gestured for me to sit on the bed. I sighed heavily and plopped down.

"First of all, don't you _ever _speak to me like that again!" Derek was in dad mode now, and he was surprisingly good at it even though he didn't have much practice. "Second of all, _what the hell were you thinking?_ We were so worried about you! You had us driving all over Chicago!"

"I went on a walk." I repeated. "I needed some air."

"You know better than to just run off like that! Alana, what is wrong with you? I mean, what happened at the dinner table, trashing your room, running off—this isn't like you! What's going on with you? Is this about your mom?"

_Fucking profilers._

I refused to respond to that. Why would I? He had no right to know. It was none of his business.

"Look," he softened his face. Now he shifted into "understanding dad" mode. I rolled my eyes. "Baby, I know things have been hard for you. I know you hate being here, and I know you miss your mom and your grandma. Trust me, I get it. And I know I'm not around as often as I should be, and I am so sorry for that. I know I need to do better, and I swear to you I will. I'm thinking that maybe we could do some counseling—"

"I'm not crazy!"

"I'm not saying that you are. I'm just saying that maybe you need some help dealing with—"

"I don't need help with anything!" I jumped up. "I told you I needed some air! I had moment and I got over it! I am just fine!" I walked over to the door and yanked it open. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone now."

Derek looked like he wanted to say something, but I made it perfectly clear that I was having none of it. He finally relented and moved to leave, but not before throwing me one more Derek Morgan promise.

"I'm here for you for whenever you need me, no matter what. I love you, Alana."

He left and I shut the door tight. I couldn't believe he had the nerve to waltz into my room and try to be a father, and then dare to suggest that I was crazy! My head started to throb, and I belly flopped onto my bed. I just wanted to go to sleep. I couldn't have cared less about Christmas. I just wanted to sleep and temporarily get away from it all.

I turned over and bolted up when I saw my laptop on my desk. For some reason it reminded me of Spencer Reid, and how I forgot to wish him a merry Christmas. I wasn't really sure why I wanted to, or if I should, but the feeling was overwhelming and I felt like I needed to say something. Especially since we had been corresponding everyday for the past few weeks. I searched through the files on my desk, looking for the business card he had given me a few weeks before. It was Christmas after all, and I thought it would be better to call instead of write.

I found the card and dialed. Spencer answered only after one ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Spencer? It's Alana."

"Alana! Hi! Oh, I mean—_bonjour!_ Comment allez-vous?"

I smiled. "Je vais bien, merci. Comment allez-vous?"

"Je fais bien." He laughed a little.

"You're getting pretty good at that." I said.

"Merci." I could tell he was smiling proudly. "Are you okay? Do you need help with something?"

"Oh, no I'm okay. I just wanted to call and wish you a happy Christmas."

"Oh!" He sounded surprised. "Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too."

"Thank you." There was a minute of tense silence that needed to be filled. Not ready to end the conversation, I found myself searching for something to talk about. "So what are you doing? Any big Christmas plans?"

"I'm…just…hanging out with my mom."

"Oh…did I interrupt something? Should I call you back—"

"No! No, it's okay. We can keep talking. My mom is…um…she's not…" He sounded hesitant and maybe even distressed. Dare I say desperate. But that was alright. I wanted to talk to him, too. "Anyway, I haven't got any big plans. What about you? Do anything fun?"

_Well, I killed a man today, _I thought, smiling at the memory.

"No, not really." I answered. "But can I ask you a question?"

I could practically feel him perk up. "Yes, of course! You can ask me anything."

"What makes blood so red?"

I half-expected him to ask why I wanted to know, and maybe even think it was strange that I asked. But if he was freaked out he didn't show it. He happily explained, and I listened intently, genuinely curious. It was oddly comforting, hearing his voice. I don't know how long he talked, but truthfully it didn't matter. I listened quietly and watched the snow falling. It was perfect.

"Alana, are you still with me?" I heard him ask.

I smiled. "Yes, of course."

"Really? Most people would've tuned out me out by now."

I almost laughed. "Well, I'm not."

There was a few beats of silence, and then a nervous laugh. "I appreciate that, Alana. But, I really should let you go now. It's nearly midnight where you are and I don't want your dad to kill me for keeping you up all night talking about blood cells."

I laughed, but ultimately agreed. I was feeling a little tired. "Okay then, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Alana. Sleep well."

"I will. Merry Christmas, Spencer."

"Merry Christmas, Alana."


	5. The Little Girl That Wasn't So Lost

Chapter: _**The Little Girl That Wasn't So Lost**_

**January 8, 2007**

Never in my life have I regretted something more than when I freaked out on Christmas Eve. Derek, being the "concerned father" and irritating life-ruiner that he is, decided that I was in desperate need of his attention. To my horror he decided he should stay around for a while, and when I say "for a while" I mean my entire winter vacation. I was being tortured with two weeks of Derek being in my presence.

It was like a never-ending nightmare. Everytime I turned around he was in my face, trying to speak to me and dragging me out to spend "quality time" together. It was nauseating. I felt like I was being suffocated and drowned by his attention and cheap cologne.

I was beyond happy to go back to school. I would've stayed there and refused to leave had I known that Derek was going to pick me up that day with a horrifying surprise.

"So, your teachers called me today..." He said. "They said they're very impressed with how much your grades have improved in math and science. You must really want that car for your birthday."

He looked at me and smiled, as if I was supposed to find that funny or even care about a car.

"Yeah, I guess..." I sat up in my seat and noticed that he was going in the wrong direction, he wasn't going to Fran's house. Panic started to set in, and I steadily rose in my seat. "Where are you going? This isn't the way back to the house. _Where are you going?"_

Then there was a subtle _click, _and the doors of Derek's SUV locked. Hysteria started to take over, and I found myself preparing to fight if I needed to.

_"Where are you going?"_

Derek sighed. "I made an appointment with a family therapist—"

"I told you I'm not crazy!" I screamed. The anxiety and panic was gone. Now I was pissed, and nearly shaking with rage. "I'm _not going!_"

"Alana, please—"

"I'm not going! Let me out of this car!"

He wasn't listening. He just kept driving.

"Alana, stop it and sit down! You're acting like a five year old."

"I don't care. I don't want to go!"

I yanked at the door handles, and couldn't get them open. I thought about the situation and decided that trying to break out of the car wouldn't be a good idea. After all, I'm quite fond of my face and prefer it not to get torn up just so I could get out of going to see a therapist.

Accepting that there was nothing I could do, I sat back down in my seat. I stayed silent the entire time, even when we got into the therapist's office. The overwhelming smell of bleach in the office made my nose burn, and the sound of the therapist's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She asked question after question, telling me to relax and trying to get me to open up. I refused to give in and tell her anything. It wasn't her or Derek's business. I was capable of dealing with my feelings on my own, and I didn't need therapy.

Two hours and an awkward goodbye later, we were in the car and making the long drive back to Fran's house. I slumped in my seat and stared out of the window in silence, calmed down but still fuming on the inside.

"I'm going to be getting the silent treatment, I see."

I could feel Derek glancing over at me, but I kept my eyes in the opposite direction.

"Shouldn't you be going back to work?" I asked him. "I'm sure there's some little girl whose family got hacked to pieces somewhere that needs your help."

That rubbed him the wrong way, I could tell. I could feel the discomfort radiating off of him.

"I took some time off. You're more important." He said. I rolled my eyes. I didn't believe a word of that. "Look, I get that you're uncomfortable with this whole therapy thing, but I really do think this will help with whatever you're dealing with. I helped me a lot when my dad died. I just...I wish you would just give it a try. You might even find that you like."

"I doubt it." I looked over at him and told him for the final time, "I don't need any help."

To my surprise, he laughed a little bit. "You're stubborn, just like your mom—and me. You _would _inherit the worse trait from both of us." He shook his head.

I was completely finished with him after that. I couldn't stand to look at him any longer or say another word to him. I couldn't believe he had the nerve to pretend like he knew my mama—like he knew _me! _

Fran had dinner waiting for us when we got back. She made spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread, one of my favorites.

"Finally! A bright spot in my day!" I sat down at the table and immediately filled my plate and started to eat.

"I take it things didn't go well." Fran said, more to Derek than to me.

Derek sighed and shot me a wary look. "We had a rocky start, but hopefully it will get better."

I didn't bother telling him that I wasn't going back. I was tired of repeating myself. He would just have to wait and see for himself that I wasn't going to participate in anymore therapy sessions.

"So...how was school?" Fran asked, desperate to change the subject.

"It was alright."

"Just alright? I heard about your excellent mid-term exam results." She smiled wide. "Keep that up and you'll be a shoe-in for Georgetown."

"Georgetown?" Derek asked, his stupid plucked eyebrows rising. "You want to go to Georgetown? You never told me that! You know, my co-worker, Emily, went to Georgetown. Maybe she can give you some tips on what they're looking for in their students."

"That would be great."

Oh yes, that definitely sounded great to me. Any chance to pick her brain and learn more about her sounded good to me.

"Did the school talk to you kids at all about what happened a few days ago?" Fran asked. She looked nervous and hesitant. It didn't take me long to figure out what she was talking about.

"About the man shot dead in the alley across from the school? Yeah, I heard." I tried to keep my voice even and tried not to smile. "I heard it was a brutal scene."

Fran shook her head. "Six rounds to the head and chest. Blood was spattered everywhere! To make it worse, they think he'd been dead for nearly _two weeks_ when they found him! All of this heavy snow covered the poor man's body."

"I'm assuming the snow degraded any evidence they found." I said, knowing full well what the answer was.

"Nope, not even a single shell casing! Either they got lost in the snow or the UnSub used a revolver." said Derek. He called me an UnSub! That made me smile. "This happened way too close to the school. I might have to look into this."

I perked up immediately. I can't explain it, but suddenly I was filled with hope and excitement.

"You can get the entire BAU to look into this?" I asked hopefully.

"I don't think the case is big enough to warrant the whole team to get involved, but I'll call Hotch after dinner. Hopefully he'll let me stay here an extra week to get this all sorted out. The safety of you and all of the other kids at the school is too important."

An hour later I walked into my bedroom feeling better than ever. The thought of Derek investigating a crime that I committed had me nearly jumping with joy. I could imagine him turning his wheels, trying so hard to solve this murder and protect the kids of the neighborhood, but ultimately failing. I could just picture the look on his face when he realized that he couldn't help anyone, that he had failed, when he finally realized that he was _not _the hero he thought he was.

The only thing better would be if he failed in front of his co-workers, his family, and his friends.

I knew I could make this plan work. I just needed to get the ball rolling.

I jumped into action. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Spencer Reid's phone number. He picked up after the first few rings and I put on my sad face.

"Hello, Alana!"

"Hey, Spencer. How are you?"

"I'm feeling pretty good, thank you. How about yourself?"

"I'm...I'm good." I knew that he could tell that something was wrong. And I knew that I had him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sounding suspicious.

"Yeah...I just...I called to give you some good news. I got my mid-term exam results back and I aced them!"

"Oh, that's great! Congratulations."

"Thanks..."

There was a few perfectly tense moments of silence. I could practically hear the concern in his voice when he spoke next.

"Alana, what's wrong? You're upset. I could hear it in your voice, you don't sound like yourself."

Oh, I definitely had him. He was so concerned and so genuine. I actually started to feel bad for what I was doing. Spencer wasn't my target, but I had to do what I had to to make this plan work.

"Spencer...a few days ago they found a dead body in the alley across the street from my school. He was...he was shot six times in the head and the chest. There was blood everywhere..."

I purposely trailed off and let him come to his own conclusion.

"Did the authorities find the killer?"

"No. There's basically no evidence."

"Probably because of the snow."

"Yeah," I shook my head. "This is just crazy. School is supposed to be a safe place. And now..."

The tense silence didn't last long this time. "Has your dad gotten involved yet?"

"He wants to, but he's not sure if Hotch will let him investigate because it's not a high-profile case."

"This happened outside of your school..." Spencer said, more to himself than to me. "I'm coming to Chicago."

My insides fluttered and I couldn't help but to smile. "Spencer, are you sure? I know there's more important cases out there—"

"I'm sure. Your safety is more important, Alana. I'll talk to Hotch and see if I can get to Chicago in the next twenty-four hours."

_Yes!_

"Spencer, thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll see you in a couple of days, Alana."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The phone line went dead. I couldn't stop the huge smile from spreading across my face.

"This is going to be fun."

I threw my phone on my bed and went to sit in front of the mirror. I needed to practice my "little girl lost" face for the show I was about to put on.


	6. Profiler Tricks

Chapter: _**Profiler Tricks**_

**January 10, 2007**

It only took two days for everything to come together, and when it did, it wasn't what I was expecting. When Derek came to pick me up from school I noticed that his SUV was parked in it's usual place, but it was empty. I didn't have to wonder where he was. It was obvious that he'd be in the alley.

I made my way to the alley. There was a crowd gathered around, most of them stupid girls giggling and whispering. I knew for sure that Derek was there. I rolled my eyes and pushed my way through the crowd of morons. In the alley I saw Derek, a police officer, and Spencer.

I looked around for the rest of the team. My stomach plummeted when I didn't see anyone else. Derek's words about it not being a big enough case to catch the attention of the BAU started to haunt me. Panic started to set in, and then anger.

I was mad at myself. It was all my fault. I couldn't blame Hotch for not sending the entire team. He was right, this wasn't big enough to get _anyone's _attention, let alone the attention of the BAU. I could've done better, _way _better.

_And you will, _I told myself.

I sighed and trudged forward through the snow, ducking under the yellow tape and into the alley. I only took a few steps when the police officer ran up to me with his arm held out to stop me from going further.

"Whoa! Young lady, get back over there! You can't just—"

"Officer, it's okay. She's my daughter." Derek called from the other end of the alley before I could say anything.

The look on his face was priceless. He looked like he had just been slapped across his ugly face. I smirked and slapped his arm away from me.

"Back off." I growled and moved past him.

"That's her _dad?!"_ I heard one of the stupid giggling girls say. I rolled my eyes and met Derek half-way.

"Alana, what are you doing out here?" He asked.

"I came to see what you were doing." I replied, trying to look past him.

"It's freezing out here." He said, reaching out and pulling the hood of my coat over my head. "Besides, there's nothing really here to see."

"No evidence?" I asked, still trying to see what was going on behind him. Once again he blocked my view.

"Not anything new. In fact, we're just about done here. Why don't you just go wait in the car?"

"But—"

"Alana, go." He took out his car keys and put them in my hand. "Turn the heat on and warm up. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I started to argue, but thought better of it and did what I was told. I needed time to think of my next move, anyway.

I ignored my classmates asking me what was going on and if Derek was really my dad. I marched into the car and slammed the door shut, automatically starting the engine and turning on the heat. After warming my hands for a few minutes, I tried to relax and think of a new plan. That proved harder than I thought. I spun my wheels trying to think of a new plan, one that would keep the BAU interested and keep me off of the suspect list. Finding a convenient time to do it was also a chore. Ever since my freak out Derek and his family had been on me like white on rice. I was never alone or had the freedom to use the bathroom without being checked on, let alone free to leave the house.

I was frustrated and started to get a headache. That was when I heard a knock on the car window. I looked to see Spencer waving shyly. I smiled softly and leaned over to open the door for him.

"Hey there, stranger. Need a lift?"

He smiled. "Actually, I'm supposed to give _you _a lift. There's some kind of emergency at the precinct and your dad rode back to the police station with him. He asked me to take his car and drive you home."

"Oh. Okay." I shrugged and put the seatbelt on. "Get in. I'll drive."

He looked dumbstruck. "Um..."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, I have my learner's permit. I can drive as long as I have a licensed driver over the age of eighteen with me."

"I know, but...he-here's the thing...driving an E-Class vehicle under the age of seventeen is illegal."

He was such a goody two-shoes and it was kind of funny.

"Spencer, don't worry. I'm a good driver. Besides, if I do get pulled over you can just flash your FBI badge and get us out of a ticket."

His mouth popped open a little and I laughed. His cheeks were red, but I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or from the cold. Luckily he broke out into a smile and hopped into the car. Spencer looked hilariously nervous as I drove out of the school zone, securing his seatbelt and clutching onto it until his knuckles turned white.

"You can relax, Spencer. I'm a cautious driver, I promise." I assured him.

"I trust you." He said with a nod and a smile. I didn't completely believe him, but that was okay. I could see how he was nervous with me being a new driver and it being winter in Chicago. So I slowed down for his sake.

"You're still not used to snow, are you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. Three years in Washington D.C. and I still get a little freaked out by snow."

I smiled. "It's alright. I can understand why it freaks you out—you being from Las Vegas and all. To be honest I'd probably freak out if I had to drive in the desert."

"Most likely," he said. "I think we'd both be in trouble if we had to drive through mud. That's the worst!"

I nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it! I went four-wheeling one time and I got stuck in the mud. It took Derek an hour to get it out."

I didn't realize my slip-up until after I said it, but Spencer didn't seem to notice that I didn't refer to Derek as 'my dad.' He just looked at me with keen interest.

"How old were you when that happened?" He asked.

"I was..." I thought for a moment. "I was nine. I remember because it was July and it was hot, but it had rained so it was muggy and muddy. I was afraid to get on the four-wheeler at first, but Mama put me on Derek's lap and we drove around for a while, tearing up the dirt road. Mama was laughing and trying to take pictures. It was fun."

"Those moments didn't happen often, did they?"

"No. It was like we...we were a...a family."

A few seconds later I realized that once again I had slipped up.

I never told anyone that before, about that day on the four-wheeler, back when I still knew Derek as Daddy. It was one of the few happy memories I had from my childhood, one that I would've liked to forget about for my own health. I guess I had forgotten, or at least buried it deep in the recesses of my mind. That was, until Spencer made me remember.

I wasn't sure if it was accidental or if he did some kind of profiler trick on me, but either way, I didn't like it. I liked Spencer well enough. He was one of the very few people in the world that I genuinely liked and found interesting. But I was un-nerved at how increasingly comfortable I was becoming with him and how easily I found myself being able to open up to him. Deep down I knew the reason; he understood me. Although I didn't know much about his background at that point, I knew that he got it.

Still, it was a dangerous situation to be in. I needed to be discreet, and spilling my guts to an FBI profiler would be the worst thing I could do. It would ruin everything, and I couldn't risk that. So in the interest of self-preservation, I changed the subject to something less personal.

"Hey, are you okay with stopping somewhere and getting a snack or something?" I asked, hoping he would say yes.

To my relief, he happily agreed. "I could kill for some coffee right about now."

I laughed and turned the corner. There was a nice little coffee shop not too out of the way. I didn't drink coffee, but I enjoyed their warm cinnamon rolls on occasion. The shop was small but comfortable. It had a cozy atmosphere with antique charm and a little European flair. It was one of my favorite places to unwind, and I could tell that Spencer loved it too as soon as we stepped in.

He ordered himself a large coffee—with an unbelievable amount of sugar—and even bought me a large cinnamon roll.

"Thank you for the cinamon roll. That was very nice of you." I said as we sat down at a small table.

He smiled, but said nothing. He closed his eyes and took a long whiff of his coffee, his face relaxing and a weird glow creeping up his face as he did so.

"Are you finished or should I leave you two alone?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

His eyes flew open, and he looked confused.

"Your coffee." I clarified, pointing to the cup clutched in his hands. "For a moment you looked like you were on the brink of a really good orgasm while you were smelling that stuff."

His face turned bright red. "N-no I—"

"Spencer, it's okay. I was joking." I laughed.

He was still blushing but managed to crack a small smile. "You have the same sense of humor as your dad."

That one hurt. I pouted and ripped off a small piece of my cinnamon roll and tossed it at him. It missed his coffee by less than an inch.

"And you're mean like him, too." He picked it up and tossed it back at me. I caught it before it could hit me. "_And _athletic."

I rolled my eyes and threw the piece of cinnamon roll into a nearby trash can. "Anyway, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What's it like working in the BAU?" I asked. "Does it ever get to you, looking at dead bodies and getting into the minds of criminals?"

Spencer didn't hestitate to answer. "Yes. It does get to me. I mean, there's no way it couldn't. The things we see everyday...it's hard to not let everything get to you."

"Hm..." I hesitated to ask my next question for fear that he would think I was crazy. But I couldn't help myself and just had to ask. "What's the worst thing you've ever seen?"

Once again I expected him to look at me funny or tell me to shut up, and once again he surprised me by not doing either of those things. He was calm and thoughtful, like he heard this question a thousand times before and it didn't bother him. He took a few minutes to answer, though. When he finally spoke again his voice sounded a little constricted.

"It's hard." He said. "You know, to pick just one incident. But...crimes against children, I have to say, are the worst for me. They don't deserve that. The things I've seen done to such innocent children is just...monsterous."

His emotion was raw. It was evident in his voice and in his eyes. It was curious and a little confusing as to why he felt so much emotion about people he didn't even know. It made no sense to cry about the death of someone you knew nothing about, at least it didn't to me. I didn't get it, but it was obvious to me that Spencer was that type of person, and that was okay.

Not wanting things to get too personal and emotional again, I changed the subject. A few hours later we were at Fran's house. She had made a nice dinner of baked chicken, vegetables and rice, and invited Spencer to join us. I liked having someone else around. Everyone attention was focused on the guest, and not on me for once.

I also enjoyed having someone to talk to. Spencer talked to me like I was his equal, not just some stupid teenager that was ignorant of everything outside of themself. While watching Dr. Who and teaching someone how to play poker might not sound fun to most people, it was fun for me. Spencer enjoyed spending time with us, too. He didn't say anything about it, but I had a feeling that he didn't get to enjoy the company of others outside of work too often.

I almost protested when Derek took Spencer back to his hotel. I was forced back into reality, and I didn't like it. My plan didn't work out as I hoped, but those few hours of escape was worth it.

After sulking for half an hour I decided to do something about it. I was determined to see Derek fail _and _keep my friend around a little longer. So that night, after everyone else fell asleep, I packed up my gun and bullets and snuck out of the front door. It wasn't hard to sneak out. Sarah and Desirèe had gone home, Fran had taken her nightly sleeping pill, and Derek was out cold after a long day of chasing his own tail. It was too easy.

I went to an alley where the homeless hung out and slept. I opened fire in the enclosed space, shooting blindly and not caring who or what I hit. I reloaded twice, sending twenty-one bullets flying into the alley. There were screams, but no one came to their rescue. It was a bad neighborhood, anyway. The police wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

I had plenty of time to clean up any evidence, get back to the house and throw my clothes in the washer. I went to bed that night smiling, confident that things were going my way after all.


End file.
